Temper
by icewolfheartsmuffins
Summary: "Bring you forth the lovestruck mute who preys with vigor on his love, and set the sky alight with all who dare to struggle 'gainst our move. For we are they who own the night and all who dwell without us fall; we drink the mind-grapes formed of thought and wail a tumult on the wall."
1. Orin brit ro

Hello. Welcome to _Temper._

I hope those reading this have also read _Burn_, which is still in progress.

I adore Skyrim. Actually, I seem to adore Bethesda's games in general.

I hope I do well.

All my love.

-icewolf

**PS. Disclaimers abound. Warnings normal. I will not repeat this message.**

* * *

"_You're awake."_

_No. She wasn't She was not awake. This was a dream._

_Her eyes lifted, seeing lips move, knowing what they said without hearing them. Her head turned, looking at the others._

_Words being said. Never mattered what they said, she knew. _

_This was a dream. She wasn't here. She wasn't awake._

_Sunlight pierced through her eyelids, even as she closed them, the smell of the pines slipped into her head, the sound of a carriage's wheels, the plodding of hooves, breathing, pleading. Breathless. Rope around her wrists, cutting into the flesh, rubbing the skin away. There would be blood when they were removed._

_Bound._

_Her eyes opened again, and her gaze was lifted to the sky, looking everywhere but the man who had leaned over to grasp her hand in a semblance of comfort, speaking words she could no longer hear._

_Why would she need comforting? _

_The trails down her cheeks…she could feel their warmth. Her hair stuck to her skin, and sometime along the ride, her head had bowed, her body slumped forward, leaning on her legs, silent, but body wracking sobs took her. _

_This was a dream._

_It had to be. The divines couldn't have been so cruel._

_A man was praying to them for help._

_The man holding her hand, rubbing the back of her palms with his thumb until she leaned back up, eyes once again lifted to the sky. _

_She would not pray. Would not beg for their mercy, or their grace, and her lips parted as an order shook through the carriages, and the man praying began anew, and pleaded to her._

_She was not supposed to be here._

_He was not supposed to be here._

_A fault of circumstance. Bad luck._

_The corner of her lips turned up in a grim, sad parody of a smile. Her hair still stuck to her cheeks, and she pulled her hands free from the soldier who tried to give her comfort. _

_Why would she need comfort?_

_Her palms wiped her face, and her eyes closed as the shadow of the stone slid over her._

"_I used to be sweet on a girl from here…"_

_The shadow of the mountain made her cold. The sort of cold that welled in from her stomach and spread through her body, threatened to make her eyes hot and tingle again._

_This was a dream, and it wasn't. _

_Everything was blurred. A hand gripped hers and pulled her to her feet, and she found herself numb, shuffling behind the man who tried to comfort her in this, their final moments, where she had arrived alone and took things quietly, knowing in the depths of her heart that no matter what would happen, it wouldn't end well. _

_Sovngarde awaited, didn't it?_

_Beckoned, ever closer. Distant echoes of the roars of lost warrior's songs._

_She remembered nearly falling from the carriage. Eyes lifting to the man calling out the list, the begging one running, being shot down. He thought he could escape._

_Nobody escapes until the Divines made it so. Silly of him to even try._

"_Who are you?"_

_What a good question, though her answer, hoarse from her lips, didn't matter. Maybe to him, given the look on his face, the way he was apologizing without saying sorry. To assure her she wasn't on the list._

_It didn't matter to the woman, the Imperial Captain. This Nord woman-child was seen, was caught in this company, there was no saying whether or not it was true._

_She took her place. _

_She watched a man die bravely. _

_She heard a sound that made her look up to the sky._

_It resonated with her bones, she felt it. Felt her blood boil. Felt the need to look up and scream back, though her voice caught in her throat in a bubble, came out as a cough, which was her doom. _

_The words were a death sentence. _

_Wood was on her neck, the smell of blood in her nose, smearing on her skin from the fearless man who had treated his death like an inconvenience for the rest of his day._

_The sound came again, and eyes were on the headsman, and then on the shadow behind him._

_It landed. Shook the tower. The axeman fell, she was knocked from the platform, and her head buzzed, before she was hauled to her feet, pulled away into the safety of a tower as the sky broke open, as men screamed and shouted and fought against the creature that came from the sky. Dragon._

_Dragon._

_**Dragon.**_

* * *

The water was cold.

Clean, cold, and she splashed her face after flipping the tunic over the pole for it to dry, letting the sun soak it's rays into the fabric, into her skin as she dipped herself further in, feet careful on the slick rocks. The water wasn't so bad the longer she stayed in, though to any that wasn't a Nord, it would be frigid. So that was in her favor.

Four days. Four days of waiting, of resting under the radar of Helgen's attack, seeing if Imperial forces would slip by, four days of resting under the protection of strangers who had been kind to shelter her.

She dipped in the current, submerging, cleaning the grime of the forge, her faithful learning of the trade leaving her with the soot, the oils, the burns on her arms and the satisfaction of honing the weapon that was her salvation in the attack of the fort into something she could wield easily with practice.

Practice was needed. Ralof was kind about that. Pointers from a soldier.

He treated her kindly. He did on the carriage. Guided her through Helgen.

Her hand rubbed the fading marks on her wrists, and she pushed dark hair from her face, dipping her head back in the water, soaking, getting the soot and oil from it the best she could.

It probably wasn't smart to bathe here, where the current by the mill's dock was fast, footing perilous, but she was alone. Her privacy was assured.

"Tófa?"

Ah. _Was_ assured.

At least it was the mill's owner, and not her brother, that had come this time.

They had been kind.

She said nothing though, only looked back at the shore where Gerdur was holding up the tunic and leggings, staring at her expectantly.

Tófa blinked slowly, before staring back at the water, before slipping out of the river, taking the dray clothes and pulling them on her body, uncaring of the way the fabric stuck to her damp skin.

"Your armor is ready, Alvor let me know. He said the fit should be good now, and you did well for your attempt at it."

Oh. She nodded once, before standing up, pulling her wet hair back, tying it into a braid with a strip of leather, expression placid.

"Now that it's finished, would you speak to the Jarl of Whiterun? There should be no more Imperial forces taking the road, I think it would be safe, and the Jarl needs to know."

Her lips moved, and she blinked, before realizing nothing came out of her mouth, given the bemused look on Gerdur's face. That happened a lot. She thought she spoke, but it was too quiet. Her voice rose, and it came out slightly low and husky, almost hoarse.

The amount of times she had spoken audibly in the last four days could be counted on one hand.

"Yes. Is Ralof headed to Windhelm soon?"

"Soon. He's going to stay a few more days, and take the long route, and see if he can find fellow soldiers from Helgen in the camps scattered by the mountains."

That made sense. Yes, that made sense.

"Come along, I'll get you some lunch for you to set out with, it's a few hours journey on foot, and you'll find yourself with hunger down the road. I also have the gold for the wood you've chopped earlier. Come on."

Her lips moved, but the words fell in the air with a whisper.

It didn't matter. She had made it clear she was thankful.

* * *

The rocks tumbled under her boots, and she slid down the face of the hill carefully, hand on her hip to keep her axe from jostling too much, other hand on the satchel tied to her belt, trying to keep the septims from clinking too loudly.

She should have remained on the road, but this way seemed so much shorter, and with the sight of soldiers in Imperial uniforms, as well as the fact she was already committed to the action.

It was a bad idea.

Her hair was in her vision, having been pulled from her braid by a need to use the leather thong and secure her axe more, and let her hair fly everywhere like a witch had cursed it with a mind of it's own.

The rocks were loose in the soil, a wrong step nearly had Tófa falling on her face as the stone slid out from under her boots, her body throwing itself backwards to compensate, landing hard on her ass, and sliding roughly four feet before her heels dug into the steep face to slow her down.

This was also a bad idea, as the force caused her to pitch back onto her feet suddenly and practically run down the face of the hill to avoid falling. Again.

At least it wasn't much longer before the ground evened out, and the extra momentum carried her a dozen or so yards, in sight of a farm, hazy figures in the dying light. A wall. Torches. A tree, but not a tree, now that her hand was up and cutting the glare from her vision.

A giant. People fighting it. She saw, got closer, hopping over the field wall, if only to get a better look. Never had she seen one up close. Heard stories. It was as large as the stories, and its head turned to her, the club raised, and Tófa slid her axe out as it headed her way, ready, shifting her foot back, arm ready. The angle was tiring for her muscles, not accustomed to holding such a unbalanced sort of weapon.

The giant never made it to her, turning at the women that had followed, one firing an arrow into the shoulder of the beast, another slamming a shield into it's leg, whirling away and striking her sword to the thigh of the beast, moving back as the club swung for her. There was a man running forward as well, a great sword held as he swung mightily.

Tófa's grip tightened on the axe.

Her blood boiled. She wanted to join in. She wanted to join in badly, but she would be outmatched, and the news of a dragon had to be reported to the Jarl. He would have to send guard to Riverwood, or not, but she had a request from Gerdur, and she had to relay it.

The axe was heavy in her hand, and she slid it back into the holder on her belt, feeling the ground tremble as the giant fell, closing her eyes against the sound, expression calm.

She expected it to fall. Her hand brushed wild hair from her face, only looking up when she felt eyes on her. Judging eyes. Hers raised to the face of a fierce looking woman, before her eyes slid elsewhere, hearing the voice.

"That's taken care of. No thanks to you, though you had the opening."

Why did she feel so ashamed? There was nothing to be ashamed about, and yet her lips moved, though it was hard to tell if she had spoken at all. The other two were behind the redhead, paying more attention to the dead giant, though the man looked over the way a couple times.

Apparently, she _had_ spoken. Or at least, the woman kept speaking as if the younger Nord had answered.

"Certainly not, we didn't need help, but a true warrior would have relished in the opportunity to take on a giant. That's why I have my Shield-Siblings here with me."

This time, Tófa said nothing, just blinked at the woman, before glancing at the others, the man nodding gruffly, the woman by him smiling widely and waving.

But silence deepened the rift between the older redhead, and the dark haired woman-child, who was looking somewhere around the woman's knees at this time. Mouth was dry, her voice was stuck, and her lips moved, but no sound came out. A glance up, and the painted woman looked almost amused, though mainly irritated.

"I guess not all are cut out to be a part of the Companions. But perhaps, if you find your spine to walk the hall among us, Kodlak might judge you."

That seemed to be it, and the woman turned to leave, gesturing sharply to the others. The woman left, chattering, but the man approached her first, looking down at her, making Tófa feel small in comparison. Which she was, the man was huge, and he spoke gruffly, but not…unkindly.

"She's tough, but you look like you're strong. You should come to Jorrvaskr, see about becoming a Companion."

Her surprise must have been on her face, but it was hidden quickly. Either way, he had turned to leave before it was seen, and she looked up at the walls of the city nearby…but still far.

She could have walked by them, with them, asked questions.

Instead, she walked alone.

* * *

Tófa was aware she didn't look reputable, by any means, at least right now.

Dark hair wild around her face, though not nearly so bad as she had slid her fingers through it, taming down the worst of the tangles, the odd placing. Tall, like any Nord, and pretty, with a slim figure and a expression like dark clouds, though blue eyes were refusing to meet faces of any who spoke to her. Her fingers tugged the fur at the end of her tunic sleeves, before pressing on the leather lacing of her chest armor, the stiff hide dirty from the spill she had taken on the steps up to the palace. And yes, her apparent inability to speak loudly to those who demanded it of her.

The Dunmer housecarl had snapped at her for not speaking up already, before the Jarl had called them over, and was leaning forward to try and hear her words.

Lips pressed into a grim line for a moment, before the blue eyes glanced up at the skull above the throne, voice hoarse as she tried, so hard, to speak up. For the fourth time.

"The dragon attack. Gerdur sent me, she thought Riverwood might be attacked and requests aid."

Yes, the dragon attack. Helgen had been news by know, and going through the market place, people were wondering if the sighting of the dragon had been a hysterical rumor or a true sighting. Theories were abound. Stormcloak attack, spell casters from the Winterhold College being employed to drive out the Imperial forces from that fort, a group of Stormcloak Hagravens. A group of Stormcloak Dremora. It escalated into more and more fantastic theories.

"A dragon. Are you sure? How could you know?"

It was a good question. Her eyes shifted to the Jarl, and looked away quickly.

"Because I saw it. I had a good view."

As the Imperials were about to cut off her head. That part was left out, but her spine straightened at the sudden flurry of conversation between the Jarl, the housecarl, and the steward. No doubt it would be a bit of time before there was an answer, and the dark haired woman started to back up, ready to take her leave.

"What say you now, Proventus?" "My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger." "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume-"

It was too much. Backing up. One step at a time. Letting them speak. Let them discuss. She was tired, it was dark, and her message was delivered.

It really shouldn't have been a surprise when she left as quietly as she had stood.

* * *

"Saadia, wake up dear!"

"Yes mum!"

She had just sat down, pushing her hair from her face, on a bench before the fire. The warmth ran through her skin, but the chill that Tófa had wasn't so easily quashed. A pinching feeling around her middle, though that was from the need for food, Gerdur's meal had long been devoured.

It took her a few moments to realize that the Redguard woman was staring at her, obviously waiting for an answer to a question that Tófa hadn't heard, too focused on the pinching feeling in her center. Bright blue eyes blinked a couple times, and her brows furrowed, her hand raising, and making a pathetic gesture. Her lips moved, but nothing came out. As normal.

She needed to work on that.

"Just anything then?"

Oh thank _Talos._ The woman, Saadia, got it, and a smile, or the ghost of one, was on her lips, a nod. Her mouth remained firmly shut.

"No problem dear. Twelve septims and I'll get you something warm. Might hold off the sore throat."

Okay, maybe she didn't completely understand, but that was fine. Tófa was happy to get something that might kill the cold in her middle, and fished out twelve gold pieces, and giving them to the Redguard, turning her attention to the fire, balefully listening to the background noise.

A lute strumming, the bard singing a popular song. A woman calling her daughter 'Little Fairy'. Tankards clanking. Laughter. Bowls clattering. People singing along with the bard, who had changed to a older song. A squabble between a woman and a man. She was losing herself into the background. Eyes closed.

There was a clatter next to her, and something warm was pressed into her lap, hands grasping it automatically. Warm bowl, and blue eyes opened, looking up at the woman. The smell of honey hit her nose from the tankard net to her. Mead. Warm mead, warm stew, fingers finding the spoon and string. Meat. Some sort of vegetable. But it was hot, and her lips moved to form the thanks, the sound coming out small. But it was heard, and that was important.

Saadia left her, and Tófa enjoyed her meal, not bothering anybody else. That was how she liked it. Surrounded by warmth, not exactly on the outside, but not in the midst of it.

That squabble was getting louder. She could hear it now, clearly. There was the shattering of glass, a bottle of mead, no doubt. She looked up, staring over at the deadlock.

A blonde man in leather armor, a woman in steel plate, gripping the front off his armor from over the table. The bottle was on the floor, shattered, the mead pooling. A fist flew, caught the man across the face, and with the steel, everybody flinched. The sound was sickening, the man was already bruising, but the woman didn't let him go, reeling back for another power punch.

"_Uthgerd! Stop this at once! Torvor's not in the right for a brawl!"_

Dark hair was in her vision, but Tófa was moving as the woman was snarling something she couldn't hear at the bard, and hands gripped the gauntlets, trying to force the fingers open. The poor man looked like he was nearly about to pass out before the hit, if the way his eyes were glazed over were any indication. Tófa struggled, the woman's grip was something, before it wasn't, and the younger Nord had far too much weight, catching the man, who was slurring words, spitting out some blood in the mead.

She stiffened a bit as she stumbled, the man slinging an arm around her and muttering, in her face, trying very hard to not drop him while getting her face as far away from his as possible.

Somebody spoke to her. Wait. What? She looked up, blue eyes searching, before looking at the owner of the establishment, who was staring at her.

"Can you do that?"

Lips moved, voice came out hoarse and small.

"_Do what?"_

"Take him back to Jorrvaskr? It's a district up, you can't miss it. If you do, you'll have a warm bed ready here."

Oh. Um. Did she have a choice? The man was leaning on her so much, and Tófa bit her lip hard, trying to find a way to say no when she was already walking out the door, careful to keep him from fallowing over his own feet. What was his name? To…Torvor. That was it.

The steps up to the next district were something interesting to navigate, and her axe clanged hard on her hip as she stumbled and nearly brought them both down because he caught his toe on the stone. A grunt left her lips, and Torvor's hand was on her free hip, pulling her down as he pulled himself up, slurring again…she couldn't understand a word he was saying. Between the swollen mouth, the level if drunk…

It was a miracle they made it up the steps, though going around the giant, dying tree, looking for a mead hall, and spotting…more steps. Of course.

It should not be this hard. It really shouldn't, though whether the young Nord was thinking about trying to get him up another set of steps and into a building with doors that were large and presumably thick and heavy. All she had wanted was to eat, sleep, and be on her way back to Riverwood. Perhaps set up there, work at the forge or lumber mill.

There was a feeling in the center of her gut that this was not going to be happening anytime soon, and the side of her fist slammed on the wood. The action did little but hurt her skin, smart the bones, and frustrate her. They couldn't hear her from outside, because they were making enough noise that it could be heard out here.

Tófa lifted her foot and kicked the door, hoping it would make more noise. A pause. Another kick. And another. Trying to make more noise than the last. Almost slightly hysterical, if an action could be considered thus.

Torvor shifted against her, slamming his palm on the wood as she kicked it, and the sudden movement threw her off balance, dropping forward, the man landing on her, breath rushing from her lungs in an indignant, slightly frustrated huff. If such actions could sound in such a way. Nails dug into the dirt, eyes closed, teeth ground together…

The door on the other side opened, the sounds of songs of victory spilling out into air, laughter greeting her ears.

"Torvor, you great lout. Which poor soul hauled your sorry ass back here this time?"

The voice was female. Vaguely familiar. Then very familiar as it clicked in her head, when the man was hauled off her. Tófa closed her eyes tightly, pushing herself to her feet, staring down at her armor, and rubbing it with a fur lined sleeve.

"Ah, yes, you. I remember you. The whelp from the farm."

Her hand came up, brushed dark hair from her eyes, and the younger Nord nodded once, before turning to walk away, before a hand clasped her shoulder. The grip was strong, and the blue eyed Nord froze under the contact.

"Halt for a moment. You hauled Torvor's drunken weight all the way up here, did you? From experience, I can tell you that takes more conviction than most tasks. Maybe you do have a spine, like a proper warrior."

Right now, she felt the need to flee. This was uncomfortable, even when the hand was lifted, and Tófa turned her head a bit, trying to judge if she would be able to leave. The woman gave off the air of silent orders and common sense.

Blue eyes met hard green ones, and the dark haired Nord quickly averted her gaze, looking somewhere over the left shoulder where Torvor was being hauled in by the Imperial woman and a Dunmer man. Lips parted, but her mouth closed just as quickly, gaze flicking to the redhead briefly, then back away…it was enough to assess the look on the woman's face.

Contemplative. Judging.

"That rabble in there is close to clearing out. Come back tomorrow and talk to Kodlak."

Wait. What? Why? Did she offend?

It must have been on her face, the questions, and she stiffened as the woman circled her. It was like being sized up by a hunter.

"Kodlak can judge your worth, the fire in your heart, but I feel there is potential to mold you into a fine warrior, worthy of this title of Companion."

Tófa bit her lips slightly, trying to find the way to say no. To refuse, even though she was already nodding once, turning to head down back to the Bannered Mare, the warm bed within.

And later, crawling into that bed, smelling the clean hay stuffed into the case that served as a mattress, burrowed under the thick wool blankets, eyes closing, the finality of her actions hit her.

There would be no going back if she walked those steps in the morning. The action would be a commitment. Her expression relaxed slightly, thinking of the morning. Her choice would be then.

For now, it was time to rest.


	2. Dii lovaas gon

Second chapter. Found a fantastic and patient beta to work with me, and I'm very happy.

I hope you all enjoy.

-icewolf

* * *

"_Legends don't burn down villages."_

_Her hands were still bound, and she struggled furiously with them for a few moments, seeing blood seep into the rope. Feeling the cut, and looking up as a hand landed on her shoulder, the chill ripping through her spine. Looking around the stone walls, feeling the rocks cut into her feet through the thin wool wraps. She knew they were as bloody as her face, where her head had caught the edge of the chopping block. _

_Ralof - that was his name. The man who had pulled her away from the dragon and into the tower. The one who had sat across from her on the carriage. The one who comforted her. Her lips pressed into a line, trying to get the ringing from her head, from the screams outside from damaging her fragile claim on this tenuous calm. He wasn't looking at her._

_He settled his hand on her shoulder, as if to reassure her, or himself, that they weren't out there. That they were marginally safe at the moment._

_More shouts outside, and her hands clenched. Wrists tensed, and she tried to loosen the ropes, to no avail. Her teeth ground together, before the hand jostled her, pushing her to the step to the tower's roof._

_Not for the first time, Tófa found herself missing what had been said, though she took the hint and started up the cold stairs. It would lead to the wall, and they could get out. That was good. _

_Okay, that was a good plan. A plan she could follow, though she stopped, seeing a man work to move some stone rubble, and the cold feeling down her spine was back, even as Ralof moved to pass her, telling people to get back in case the stones fell…_

_She scrambled back, but because the wall exploded inward, and she came face to snout with black scales, a single red eye that stared at her. The head turned, the maw opening, great teeth the size of her hand gleaming through the dust that threatened to choke her._

_It could have been her mind. It could have been her mind, but she thought she heard words growling from that throat, from the depths of that monster. Her eyes were wide. There was blood on her face. She could see herself in those scales, in that eye._

"_**GET DOWN!**__"_

_The body of Ralof hit her as the words (They were words, weren't they?) stopped, fire streaming into the tower, heat unbearable, even as they fell down the steps. She could feel her tunic tear, blood seeping up through new gashes in her skin._

_She could not lay there long, though the heat had passed, because hands were hauling her up, and the face swimming in her vision was Ralof._

_He was saying something. Tófa couldn't understand as he pulled her back up through the tower, though she balked at the hole through the wall. Blood streamed on the floor, coming from a man who had been spared being roasted, instead just crushed as the top of the tower collapsed on him, flattened into little more than pulp._

_She wanted to scream. To cry and cling to this man who had taken it upon himself to help her. _

"_Look, just jump down to the inn. Okay? Don't worry, we'll catch up. You'll be fine."_

_No. No she wouldn't. It was too far. The inn was on fire. They were too high. She hurt. She was dizzy and bleeding and hurt and her heart was in her ears._

_His hand was rough against her back, trying to push her forward without shoving her on her face. Blue eyes caught the look in his eyes, the half encouraging smile he gave._

_He was trying to comfort her._

_Did she truly need comforting?_

_Her panicked nausea bubbled in her stomach, and she held back a cough from the dust that coated her throat. Reaching up to push blood coated hair away from her eyes, to take a moment to gather herself, before her body tensed as she took a half step back, and then ran forward. Her aching feet left the stone, and she was falling…heart in her throat._

_The landing was hard, sent a shock through her legs. Her footing faltered, and Tófa pitched forward, slamming hard on her face and chest, air forced from her lungs, coughing to retrieve it. The creak of the weakening wood was in her ears, smoke pouring up through the slats from the fire below was filling her eyes. They watered, even as she turned to look at the man still in the tower. Ralof pointed once to the other side of the inn, before turning to disappear back into the tower._

_His messages was clear._

_She had to leave._

_If she stayed, she would die._

_Pain was pushed aside. Fear was pushed aside. It wasn't important right now. _

_She had to leave._

* * *

Blue eyes opened to the dark, and it took a moment for Tófa to realize her arm was covering her face, and she was seeing the crook of her elbow. She closed her eyes, and let out a slow breath. Her heart pounded in her chest, though she couldn't understand why.

There were no dreams.

No reason she should be feeling this undeniable quiet panic.

The warm smell of food drifted up to her room, honey smell from mead mingling with it.

Her head ached. Her chest felt like something was sitting on it. Her heart was threatening to escape her. Lips parted to take a shuddering breath, trying to calm down.

There had been no dreams.

The arm moved from her face, flopping on the bed next to her, and she opened her eyes again, seeing the rays of light stream through the window. Leaning up, first supporting herself on her elbows, and then without, stretching forward to her toes, grasping them with her fingertips, popping the bones in her back.

It always worked. The amount of time differed, but the motions were tried an true. Her head needed to be unburdened with the irrational panic she had waking up this morning.

She sat there for a moment, limbs stretched out, head bowed and head pressing lightly to her knees.

The sun slowly brightened the room as time passed. She had awoken early. Early enough to think about the decisions she needed to make. About the offers given, and her choices ahead of her.

She could go back to Riverwood. She could take up work there. Settle down into a normal life, away from the hysteria, after the madness that had started this…misadventure. Live, content with the knowledge she had missed death once so narrowly.

Something inside her was vehemently opposed to the idea.

Just the thought made her blood boil, made her want to cry. Such a life imagined drove her to Skyrim in the first place. A land of harsh realities, and the thought of overcoming struggle had been appealing. She couldn't have anything too easy, there was a simple need to be able to dominate adversity.

Which brought her to her second thought, the one that was dancing in her mind like a drunken sailor, daring her to ignore it. Her lips pressed together in a grim line, her feet on the cold wood, stretching upward as she stood, hands grasping for the ceiling, before she settled and gathered her things, ready to make her way for the day.

* * *

It was hours later she made her way to the mead hall, finishing up an apple dumpling from the market, the last of the spiced fruit being licked from her thumb, dark hair gleaming in a plait, still damp from the inn's washroom, strands sticking to her cheeks.

_"__**Terrible and powerful Talos! We, your unworthy servants, give praise! For only through your grace and benevolence may we truly reach enlightenment! And deserve our praise you do, for we are one! Ere you ascended and the Eight became Nine, you walked among us, great Talos, not as god, but as man! But you were once man ... **__"_

It was still early. Blue eyes slid to the priest, preaching in front of the statue of Talos.

"_**And as man you said, 'Let me show you the power of Talos Stormcrown, born of the North, where my breath is long winter.'**__" _

Unerring love. Determination. Fearlessness incarnate. A true Nord.

Tófa found herself wandering over, though she had been so close to opening Jorrvaskr's doors. To stand at the base of the monument to the Ninth Divine, though so many had struck him from the Pantheon of late. To look up into the carved face as the priest preached, loud enough to fill her head. Loud enough to fill her heart.

"_**Even as man, great Talos cherished us. For he saw in us, in each of us, the future of Skyrim! The future of Tamriel! And there it is, friends! The ugly truth! We are the children of man! Talos is the true god of man! Ascended from flesh, to rule the realm of spirit!**__"_

Blue eyes met the statue's, and for once, she maintained contact. The eyes of a god were on her. She could not falter under it.

Hands rose, clasped together, eyes still locked. Lips parted. They moved, but no sound came out. None audible from the preaching.

Unerring love. Determination. Fearlessness incarnate. A true Nord.

"_**Today, they take away your faith. But what of tomorrow?**__"_

She wanted to emulate him, to be _him_. To be _Talos_, if only in her heart. To strive and make the hero-god proud, if he ever took pride in mortal affairs, if he took pride in those that revered him for his work. For his impact as a mortal, and for what he stood for to men.

"_**Embrace the word of mighty Talos, he who is both man and Divine! For we are the children of man! And we shall inherit the heavens and earth!**__"_

Her hands fell, and her eyes followed, turning away, her prayers finished. Her longing was there. Her mute wishes lingered, heard by the divine alone. But to pray only would leave her nowhere. Her heart burned with need, but her body had to follow suit. Blue eyes closed, and she made her way back up the stone steps, hearing the sermon go on, hearing the water around the plaza, hearing whispers in her heart.

This was the right thing to do. This would lead to her Sovngarde song, if she had one.

* * *

Her eyes only opened when the heavy door closed behind her, blinking to adjust to the sudden low light, as well as the ruckus she seemed to have walked in on.

Tófa tilted her head, hands falling to her sides. It was too early for a brawl, wasn't it? Lips pursed together in contemplation, before her expression smoothed out, and her eyes were averted from the redheaded that seemed to have scented her instantly.

Her hands pressed against the wood as she took a step back from the woman, nails digging into the door.

The redhead was _fearsome_. Who could really blame the blue eyed Nord for being intimidated?

"Don't mind the squabble, it happens often. I'm surprised to see you, honestly. Follow me."

There was no room for arguing. Just the no-nonsense, brusque tone of the redhead as she spoke. The tone that barked at her like she was a child in trouble. It didn't help that she as being led as one, down wooden steps, another set of doors, held open for her.

Down here was warmth. The door closed behind her, and the redhead crossed her arms, looking pointedly down the long hall to the end.

"Just go straight, and you'll reach the old man. He takes breakfast away from the rest of the whelps."

Tófa couldn't move, not until there was a pointed sound from the woman, who was boring holes into the side of her head. Three steps down the hall, and there sound of the door being shut was audible.

She could not go back. Going back now would be admitting a failure to herself, that she couldn't even make it down a hall.

This would be her Sovngarde song. It would write itself if she finished that walk. It would be sung, quietly, through her life, rise in pitch as she died and walked through Shor's Hall, before tapering off into the echoes of the night.

But the world was quiet here, save her steps.

Her steps, and the way her heart thudded in her ears. Nothing was showing on her face, her breath was slow and even, but that beat she could only hear was frantic. It was loud, to her. In fact, it seemed to encompass everything, though she knew it wasn't possible.

The world was quiet here.

And then it wasn't, as she got closer to the room at the end. There was a conversation, and she paused at the open doors to the office, eyes drifting over the pair of men there. Both looked like ones of a long life fighting, hard and rough, like the woman who had seen her down to this level.

She couldn't interrupt. Hell…even if she wanted to, she wouldn't have been able.

"But I still hear it…the call of the blood."

The younger of the two, marked as such by his dark hair. Serious, everything was serious. She could hear a void in the wake of his words, and let out a sigh that was silent.

"We all do. It is our burden to bear…but we can overcome."

And the elder, presumably Kodlak. Whoever he was, the leader, the father of these brothers and sisters in arms. He had the air of a man who had long guided others with patience and fair discipline.

What were they speaking of? Should she return later? At the risk of not coming back? It took her courage, and the silent, judging _challenge _of the fearsome woman, to get this far.

"You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily."

Oh. The younger one had spotted her, and Tófa felt his gaze, hot as fire, and the scowl on his face, cringe inducing. She did not cringe or crawl under his glower, but her eyes slid away, her heart thumped with unsure beats. Her lips pressed together, keeping her insecurities locked in her throat. This man's judgment in an instant…

She knew his verdict. But it wasn't him she had to speak to. If she could speak now, as her words were tucked somewhere in her mind, and more than likely would not travel to her voice.

"Leave that to me."

Her eyes slid back, and Tófa found herself halfway across the room, before stopping herself, awkwardly dropping her hands, and gripping the bottom of her tunic, where it peeked out of her chest armor. The fur lining was soft, and running her thumbs over it was a bit of a comfort. Both sets of eyes were on her. She struggled to meet them. Her lips moved, but what came out was a rasp, even to her own ears.

"What was that, girl?"

Second try.

"I…want to join. The Companions."

Her voice had broken in the middle, and her voice burned, chest aching.

"Would you now? Here…let me have a look at you."

She had tried to be more forceful than that. To be clear with her words, though as the white haired man rose when he spoke, towered over her in presence, circled her, her heart thumped. Her breath left her slowly, her head tilted up, gaze not meeting his face, nor the other man's, but looking forward. Trying to see something.

He spoke again, low voice easily punctuating her aura of failed composure.

"_Hm._ Tell me, what is it you are called?"

The world was quiet, in her mind. Quiet as they both stared at her, awaiting her words. Blue eyes closed, and she took a breath, let it out slowly, trying to summon up her voice. It had died again, somewhere in her chest.

"…Tófa…"

More silence, and the old man stood in front of her, with a gaze that was impossible to meet, if her eyes had been open.

"Yes, perhaps. A…certain strength of spirit."

Wait…what? Her eyes flew open, and she parted her lips to say that exactly…

"_Master_…you're truly not considering accepting _her?_"

It was said with such disgust. This man, Kodlak, she now figured he should be called, turned to the other, crossing his arms, voice stern.

"I am nobody's master, Vilkas. And last I checked, we had some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts."

Her gaze was settled firmly at the floor. The floor was not judging her. Not judging her as the man, Vilkas, had already seemed to. Or if it did, if the earth had already found her worth, it kept the opinion to itself.

"Apologies. But perhaps this isn't the time. I've never even _heard_ of this…_outsider_."

Worthless already, in his eyes, and her hands tightened on the hem of her tunic, teeth clenching, though the action went missed. She was not worthless, because she was an outsider. Worth less, perhaps, but not worthless. Her throat burned to say these things…and like all times, Tófa remained silent. Simply let out a breath, slow and even, to get rid of the ache in her chest, relieve the pressure that settled there with the want of her words to be heard.

"Sometimes the famous come to us. Sometimes men and women come to us to seek their fame. It makes no difference. What matters is their heart."

It would do no good.

"And their arm."

"Of course."

Blue eyes looked up, because their gazes were on her again. She could feel it.

Kodlak was staring at her, the corners of his mouth tilted in a wry smile.

"How are you in battle, girl?"

* * *

Tófa supposed no matter what she said, she would have been here anyway, so it was best to be honest. She truly didn't know. She had a lot to learn. Her grip was poor and she had only fought her way out of one situation.

"Is that all you have?"

Her grip tightened on the axe, and she adjusted her grip, before lunging forward, swinging it down from above onto the shield that he hefted to block her blow. Her grip broke, and the axe was thrown from her grip, again, as she was tossed back a couple steps.

Three times. Three in a row. She grit her teeth, and made for her axe again, gripping the leather that made the grip, now slick with sweat, covered in dirt. Adjusting her grip in an instant, finding a different spot to make it harder to knock from her hand, and lunging again.

It was not graceful, in a traditional sense of a warrior practiced.

It was graceful in the speed of her recovery, the way she continued. Her eyes flashed, her heart burned, her teeth were grit, her brows furrowed in this test of her mettle. She wanted to prove herself. She was worth something more than scorn. She wanted that to be present.

She _could_ do this.

The axe clanged against the shield again, but instead of being knocked from her fingers, she tightened her grip, twisted her body, and dug her heels in, using the force that would shove her back to propel her that same force to the side, her axe coming up from below this time. It caught the edge of the shield in a lucky strike, and flipped it up a bit, but his grip was good and hers was not. He shoved his arm down and moved forward. The shield caught her square.

The resulting land in the dirt was maddening. Her axe was gone from her grip again, and the dark haired Nord, her miserable pride smarting, already dirty and sore, but willing to continue, reached for her axe, but was stopped with a sharp sound.

"That's enough."

Tófa looked up as a shadow fell over her, blue eyes accidentally meeting his own before she looked back down, reaching for the axe again. He was done, she knew. She could do better. Her lips moved, but nothing came from them, not even as a rough hand grabbed her arm and hauled her up.

"I said enough. You can relax, new blood. There's room to learn, for sure, but your arm is strong."

It felt like her arm was vibrating. The hits had been hard, and she hadn't been prepared, truly. Her other arm, the one being gripped, hurt, and she stiffened, until it was released, to which she relaxed imperceptibly. He shed the shield, and set the sword against it, picking up her axe and hefting it in his hands. Tófa looked up, careful with her breath. Slow in. Slow out. Her arm was shaking still. Like the vibration was stuck in her bone.

"You'll need more training with this. It looks like you just picked it up a week ago."

Well…she did. And so it did show. That was…expected, but it really bothered her that it was so obvious. He simply tossed her axe next to the shield he'd been using.

"You _might_ just make it with us."

Her hand felt like it had stopped shaking, and her fingers curled in, before relaxing the hand, looking up briefly, her gaze settled around his shoulders.

"Still, until you break or temper yourself to our ranks, you're to do as we say. So take my sword to Eorlund and get it sharpened. And be careful with it. More than likely it's worth more than you are."

And the sad thing was, as she picked up the steel sword, is that Tófa could agree.

But she was worth less, not worthless. And that was a gripping point.

* * *

Eorlund had been gruff. Gruff and brisk, but not…unkind. She found herself holding the shield, still dirty, bruised on her arms from a spill she had taken up the steps of the Skyforge, her shins no doubt scraped, even under the fur and leather of her boots. Her hand pushed open the door of the Hall…and the smell of a cooking meal settled in her head. There was the faintest ache in the center of her stomach at the smell of roasting meat, a sharp pinch as she could practically taste the baking bread on her tongue.

Oh. Was it that time? Dinner already?

It felt like the longest day in her life, save the day she was to be executed. Funny. Her nose scrunched, and Tófa pushed hair that had escaped the plait away from her face, heading down to the living area, after not seeing the redhead in the hall proper.

Of course, she _would_ run into a woman who looked ready to bite her head off. Hide armor, a helmet, snarling at the younger Nord and the Dunmer shoving past to keep up with the bad tempered one …they left with the slamming of the door, and for a moment, it was quiet.

Still, that had startled her. Blue eyes closed, and a breath was released.

"Don't let Njada scare you. She doesn't like anyone, and Athis always bothers her."

Tófa opened her eyes, looking for the voice, which was owned by a woman sitting down her feet propped up on a table, and an apple being polished. She had a huge smile though, and gave off the air of being friendly. Her lips parted, before the Nord looked away from the Imperial woman, down the hall instead.

"I remember you. You were at the farm. You froze in front of the giant, right?"

Yes. If that's how it was seen.

There was a scuffle of sound, boots on the floor, and the dark haired Nord looked up, only to flinch as eye contact was made, making as if to step back, but there was an arm around her shoulders, leading her away from the dangers of the doorway just in time…it slammed open a moment later, with the Dunmer, Athis, on the floor. He got up a moment later, though he was swearing long and colorfully at the woman who was laughing.

"They do that all the time. I didn't want you to get crushed under him. I'm Ria, by the way. You're probably the newest, aren't you? Trust me, I saw you in the yard. Vilkas really only tests the newest members. I was like you not far back."

The woman…Ria…liked to talk. Her own throat was dry. That didn't seem to bother the woman.

"Listen, you're going to be treated hard for a bit, but you'll end up okay. And if anything, I'll show you the ropes. Like I said, I was the newest Companion until you, and you'll thrive here. Trust me. Now, you look lost, and that's Aela's shield, right?"

There was a pause, and that was meant for her, it seemed. A nod, and Ria smiled widely, removing her arm from the shoulder. The hand rested on the back of the neck instead, and the Imperial pointed down the hall.

"She's probably in her quarters. Make as if you're heading to the Harbinger's Office, and head left, and it'll be the doors on your left after that. You don't have to knock, her door's pretty much open unless she's asleep. Come see me after, I'll sort you out if they don't. Besides, it's my turn to fetch this week's mead. You should come along, it's more fun in a pair."

That was helpful. It really was. So far, everyone else had seemed unfriendly or distrustful of newcomers. Maybe it was because the woman was an Imperial, which made her as much as an outsider. The hand was gone from the back of her neck, and there was a light tap on her shoulder.

"I'll wait for you, alright?"

Yes. Alright. An ease settled in the pit of her abdomen, and Tófa felt calmer. This was somebody that she could come to, it seemed. It would be hard, but she felt as though she wouldn't be judged for it. Not by Ria, at least.

It was a start.


End file.
